


talking like i'm falling down stairs

by mavnificent



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 07:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mavnificent/pseuds/mavnificent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a certain age we all reach when we come to the startling realization that Batman does not, in fact, know shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	talking like i'm falling down stairs

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Four Hands and then Away. Season 2 compliant.

Mercedes's face falls when she's disappointed. Her eyes will flick from one face to another if she's in a group of people, then down briefly, before she gathers herself back up again. She pouts in thought sometimes, and when she's hurt, her lips roll together in a flat line. She looked this way when Mr. Schue had turned down “Hell to the No” for Regionals, and then again when glee club had left the auditorium after Sunshine's drive-by performance. When she walked back into the choir room following her audition with Jesse St. Serial Killer for Nationals, she had looked that way too, though angry enough to go all Shining-with-a-hatchet if given the opportunity. No one ever noticed her disappointment, so far as Sam was certain, because it's always quick as a blink, faster than Wally West before bamf! it's gone. As uncaring as she pretends to be though, Sam's sure the disappointments cut deeper than her bravado allows her to show.  
  
Sam never wanted to be the pinch in the corners of her mouth or the smile that didn't reach her eyes. He didn't want to disappoint her, so he remained her friend after prom instead of taking her hand, like he really wanted to. Sam told himself he was doing the right thing, because he graduated from Batman's School of Prep Time, and he needed all the time he could get to be  _worth_  something to Mercedes Jones.  
  
Still, sometimes he'd glance over at her hand – like where it had rested on the armrest on the flight to the Big Apple (she'd been in the aisle over and man, it'd been tempting)– and he wondered if Batman had the right idea. The way things had been going in his life lately, though, he was afraid he'd never be ready, and when they'd landed in JFK, that chance shrank so small even Ray Palmer would be impressed.  
  


 

  
New York fit Mercedes in a way Lima, Ohio never could. It got her: her humor, her style, her pace. It was loud and abrasive, independent and nurturing: a strange combination of smog and noise and freedom and  _life_. Mercedes looked awake, like the heavy cloud cover they had left behind in the dust of the Midwest had been ripped away. Sam hated how he felt left behind along with it. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his Letterman jacket and tried to avoid staring.

“Not impressed,” he said under his breath. Puck turned with a look of incredulity.

“You serious? We’re in the Big Apple, dude. It’s like Disney World for grown-ups,” Puck said around a grin.“You gotta take advantage of it.”

“I'm pretty sure I wouldn't get mugged at Disney World,” Sam deadpanned. Puck clapped him on the arm.

“Stop being such a buzz-kill. We're here for  _Nationals_. Us – New Directions, William McKinley High's  _glee club_. I'm pretty sure anything's possible at this point.” Puck paused and shot a distracted glance over Sam's shoulder, hand slipping away. “Including me getting my drink on.”

Sam snorted a laugh for the first time since they'd touched down and followed Puck's gaze across the foyer, where there was a bar a room away.

“I'll tell Schue you needed to take a leak?” he offered.

“I knew you were my favorite,” Puck grinned. He bumped Sam's fist and ducked away from the group, pulling Lauren along with him.

Sam considered Puck's 'don't think, do' attitude for about three seconds before he remembered that it'd gotten him thrown into juvie earlier that year. Glancing up at the vaulted ceilings and the tall windows offering small glimpses of the city, Sam felt tempted to act, because even when he didn't mean to, his gaze still found Mercedes when he looked back towards his group.

She was laughing at something Tina said, loud and bright, and he decided he'd maybe do a little bit more considering. Even Batman covered his bases.

 

 

“Do you come around here often?”

Mercedes fixed Sam with the same look she gave Brittany during ‘My Cup’ earlier that afternoon, and so did the pretzel vendor for that matter, who snorted before he returned his attentions to the pretzel he was wrapping in wax paper. A slow smile spread across Mercedes’s face as she rolled her eyes and passed money over the counter.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying out a really bad pick-up line,” she said, laughter in her voice. Sam felt his ears burn; he pawed his hair forward, thankful for its length for once, and grinned at her anyway.

“I don’t think you know better,” Sam said. “You seem like you know what you're doing, though. Here, I mean.”

“I really don't.” Mercedes thumbed salt from her pretzel, then tore a piece free and passed it to Sam. “But if it makes any difference, I have family in upstate New York. We visit, mostly for family reunions and stuff, but I've only been to the city maybe two or three times.” She glanced over. “What about you?”

Sam waggled a finger back and forth and cupped a hand over his full mouth. The last thing he wanted to do was spew crumbs everywhere. “Nope! First time here.”

“Seriously? What do you think of it?”

Sam took in Mercedes's excitement, the way her dark eyes lit up just to hear his answer, like it was something special. He scuffed the nose of his sneaker on the pavement as they wound their way through Central Park and didn't answer her right away.

Sam didn’t want to hate New York City, but a part of him did on principle. If Nationals had been a couple of months ago, maybe three or four or so before his house had been taken and he’d started wearing Kurt’s clothes, then Finn's, maybe he would have enjoyed it. Maybe if he wasn’t from small-town Tennessee, living in small-town Ohio, maybe it wouldn’t be such an issue.

Sam dropped down onto a bench off the main path and Mercedes followed suit, offering some more of her pretzel.

“It’s not so bad here,” he said after a long silence.

Mercedes snorted. “Don’t lie to me, Sam Evans.”

Sam bared his teeth as he sucked in a breath. “That easy, huh?”

“Santana-easy.”

“Harsh, Miss Jones! I dated her!”

Mercedes patted his arm. “My point exactly.”

Sam watched her hand rest on the sleeve of his jacket. She gave his forearm a squeeze before her fingers slipped away to rest on the bench between them. “Lapses in judgment aside, what’s eating you? You don’t seem really happy.”

Sam stared at Mercedes, words sitting heavy on his tongue. They were _there,_  right there, though she didn’t wait or expect. It wasn’t anything like the way Quinn and Santana used to look at him, like Quinn was waiting for the other shoe to drop while Santana had expected more from Sam than he had to give. Mercedes was one hundred percent there, grounded in a way Sam hadn’t felt for months now. She was as real and as tangible as she had been the night of prom, and he didn’t want to be a sinkhole beneath her feet.

“Sam?”

Sam looked away. “It’s just the city, I think. Country boy, remember?” he said, sliding an arm across the back of the bench. It’s not what he wanted to say and he hated how she nodded, because there was no way Mercedes didn’t know. “It’s too little or something. Like those Rocky shorts. I feel kinda exposed.”

Mercedes burst out laughing, her free hand clapping over her mouth. “Worst allusion ever!” she gasped, bumping Sam’s open side with her shoulder.

The corners of Sam's mouth went up. “But it makes sense. That’s all that matters. You're not blushing, are you, Miss Jones?”

Mercedes rolled her eyes and smacked his thigh with the back of her hand. “You're ridiculous.”

Central Park, unlike the rest of the city that surrounded it, was muted, only punctuated by a laugh or the sound of hooves on cement or the whisper of bike tire treads. It was a complete change of scenery from the high-risers with their sky-high billboards leering down at him from Times Square. In reality, Sam didn't mind it much here, kind of liked it in fact, but he knew it was just a bubble, that it wasn't actually real. When he glanced Mercedes's way, she was watching him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she said with a faint smile. She tossed the crumpled pretzel paper into the air and caught it. “My brother Ty wants to move to Brooklyn and I've been looking at schools here in New York. That's all Kurt and Rachel have been talking about lately too. Escaping Lima.”

Sam convinced himself that his stomach hadn't sunk. “Ohio that bad?” he asked. Mercedes just gave him a look. Her patented 'are you crazy?' look. Sam grinned and tweaked the bill of her cap. She waved his hand away.

“What about you?”

Sam shifted to stretch his legs out. “Before, well, you know, I'd been thinking Vandy. Vanderbilt. In Nashville. I have a great aunt that works there.” He toyed with a loose thread on his jeans.

“And now?”

He shrugged. “I don't know.”

“You're not  _not_  looking at schools, are you, Sam?”

“I–“ he began, but didn't finish. Mercedes stared, disbelieving. It wasn't that he hadn't stopped thinking about going to college, but it was less of a certainty these days. He knew his parents were still expecting to ship him off to college as soon as he graduated, but Sam was also aware that if his family needed him, they came first. He'd rather miss the first train out of the station so that he could make sure Stacey and Stevie were settled before he helped himself.

“I am,” he finally admitted, blowing out a sigh. “But it's not priority. I'm looking in-state. Definitely no Vandy in my future.”

“Ohio has good schools,” Mercedes said, more to herself than to him.

Sam kept his eyes on the path, feeling even more exposed than he had when he'd stepped off the plane, or when he wore those stupid gold shorts. The conversation only reminded him that a relationship shouldn't be priority – but convincing himself that Mercedes was anything  _but_  priority hadn't been working for him so far. Responsibility sucked. What did Uncle Ben know anyway? Sam absently waved at a pair of mounted policemen as they clip-clopped by and felt Mercedes shift imperceptibly closer.

“You okay?” he asked, brow raised. He was mostly aware that he could drop his arm around her shoulder now.

Her gaze flicked his way. “Horses,” was all she said. Sam laughed.

“Horses? Really?”

“Shut.  _Up._  They're huge!”

And just like that, the future disappeared. Sam doubled over.

“Okay! So how do you expect to handle the rats here? I'm pretty sure they're Godzilla-sized! And the roaches? Mothra!”

Mercedes held up her hands and shut her eyes, “Ew, stop. Just stop. I don't even know what Mothra is, but it sounds gross. It's not like the cops go around riding mutant rats, okay?”

“No, but they'll be in your matchbox-sized apartme-- oof!”

Mercedes socked Sam in the stomach and stood up, crossing the path in quick strides to toss her garbage away. She didn't come back either, but kept walking.

“Hey!” Sam shouted, laughing. He climbed to his feet and jogged after her. “Don't leave without me!”

Mercedes smiled over her shoulder and Sam nearly stopped, she was so pretty. “Wouldn't dream of it.”

When she waved him after her, Sam had the urge to reach out and take her hand. He made a fist instead and stuck it in the pocket of his Letterman, though he kept close enough to Mercedes's side to brush her arm with every step.

 

 

Sam caught up with Puck as he reached the bank of elevators, snaking a hand past the automatic door in order to keep it open.

“Artie send you after me, Evans?” Puck grinned, punching the button for the ground floor. Sam settled in next to him.

“Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t blow our money on Natty Light,” Sam said.

Puck held up his hands. “Hey! Have faith, bro. I have more class than that. I was thinking more along the lines of bubbly.”

They shared a grin and lapsed into silence as they watched the floor numbers tick down. The truth was that after their little powwow session with Finn’s love-life, or lack thereof, all of Sam’s own hesitations had come crashing to the fore. And it wasn’t like there wasn’t something there between Mercedes and him. He was positive there was. Mostly positive, anyway, and every time she looked at him in that way that said ‘ _I’ll wait_ ,’ Sam wanted to take those last few steps to close the gap. But he couldn’t. Sam would give her the world if she gave him the chance, but he only had himself to offer and lately that didn’t seem like enough.

The elevator halted with a soft jolt, the doors whispering open a second later. Puck slapped his palm down over all the buttons until most of them were orange and then ducked out after Sam.

“I still can’t believe this place doesn’t have vending machines,” Puck said. He shouldered the revolving door open and Sam followed quickly after him, buttoning up his Letterman. It was getting chillier now that the sun had dipped behind the skyscrapers, light clotting high and bright at the edges of the windows.

“Would have been too convenient,” Sam said, shoving his hands into his pockets as he jogged across the street. “Hurry up. Schue could get back any minute now.”

There was a burst of laughter behind him. “So that’s why they sent you with me. I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Nooo,” Sam stressed, turning around to walk backwards. He took a deep breath. “I came because I wanted to. Well. I wanted to run something by you.”

Puck levered him with a long stare and Sam turned around again as he caught up. The last thing he needed was Puck somehow figuring him out. Grilling Puck for romantic advice wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, but he'd made enough sense earlier for it to stick. Though maybe he should have approached Mike...he was the only one in a stable relationship these days, after all. Sam pressed his lips together.

“You really think Finn should take the chance on Rachel?” Sam asked instead.

“Why shouldn’t he?” Puck pulled open the door to a corner store. He went straight for the junk food, grabbing the first pack of Combos he saw.

Sam hesitated in front of a stack of Cookies n’ Cream Hershey’s bars. “I dunno, ‘cause he just broke it off with Quinn. You think he’s ready?”

“Finn Hudson is always ready for Rachel Berry,” Puck murmured to a bag of Bugles. He tucked it under his arm and reached for a tube of Pringles. “You cool with pop?”

“Yeah, I’ll get it.” Sam looked over Puck’s shoulder on his way to the freezers at the end of the aisle. “You don't strike me as a whole-grain pretzel kind of a guy, Puck.”

“It’s the only thing in this store Kurt would be halfway okay with. He has to come back to our room sooner or later and I really don’t wanna get bitched out for not getting something he could eat.”

“Thoughtful,” Sam said.

“I try.”

When they finally left the corner store, it was with arms full of junk food and considerably lighter pockets. Even with the lights of the city winking on one by one, Sam couldn't see himself living in New York. It was a beautiful place, that much he could admit, but it was overwhelming in a way the flatness of Ohio wasn't. The city expected too much. Not that he wanted to stay in the Midwest the rest of his life, but he didn't like the risk involved with the city. He just didn't see the worth.

“The way I see it, is that you’re never gonna be ready,” Puck began as he followed Sam back into the hotel. Sam's brows wrinkled in confusion, but Puck soldiered on without elaboration. “Not totally,” he continued. “Even when you think you’re ready, life’s gonna throw a wrench, right?” He spoke slowly, just as slowly as he had to the Bugles and Sam realized he hadn’t been reading a label while speaking, but really mulling his words over. Sam met his gaze in the reflection of the elevator doors as they were shut in. “So it’s better to not be ready, but do it and say you did, then to not and regret it? So Finn should take the chance. And this is Rachel and Finn we’re talking about. That shit’s for real. It’s not even chance.”

“So you think it'll be worth it in the end?” Sam tried, thinking of Mercedes, wondering if he could have what Finn and Rachel had. “Putting yourself out there like that?”

“I can't really say anything about the end,” Puck said. “But sometimes the only thing you’re gonna be ready for is the fact that you’re sure about how you feel about each other now. The future can go fuck itself.”

Sam stared at Puck's profile, brow furrowed.

The doors whooshed open and neither had free hand enough to push all the buttons this time. Kurt and Mercedes were standing outside of the boys' room as they rounded the floor's foyer and entered their hall and Sam nearly stopped when he saw them. Puck shot Sam a threatening glance. It was pretty weak.

“What happened in the elevator stays in the elevator, Evans,” Puck warned as they neared the door.

Kurt’s hand paused in the midst of pulling a feather from his hair. “Is this something I want to hear about?” Puck rolled his eyes and fished out his key-card.

“Think that’s enough?” Mercedes asked, motioning to Sam's armload.

Sam smiled without sparing a glance down. “I’m starting to think it's okay actually.” He took a shuddering breath and looked over his shoulder to watch Puck and Kurt slip, bickering, into the boys' room. He glanced back down at Mercedes, Puck's words beating loud in his head.  _The future can go fuck itself._ Then, in a burst of defiance:  _so can Batman for that matter._ “Meet me downstairs in five?”

Mercedes's face scrunched with puzzlement, but she nodded. “Sure. Let me go put some actual shoes on.” She wiggled her slippered toes at him. “Should I get my coat?”

Sam laughed. “It's up to you. We won't go far. Not unless you want to.”

Something about her looking him dead in the eye and saying, “I want to.” made Sam want to whoop with triumph. Instead, he backed away, smile lingering. “Cool. See you in five.”

It wasn't hard to get away from a bunch of guys who were engaged in splitting the spoils of Sam and Puck's New York Hunt (Puck's words, not his). He spent the elevator ride coming to the startling realization that he didn't have a plan. He needed a plan. Without one he was screwed. Sam combed his fingers through his hair. A touch on his arm nearly sent him through the roof.

“Whoa, easy, cowboy! Who were you expecting?” Mercedes said.

“Uh, nothing. I thought-- you know, Schue's not back and-- wow, hey, it doesn't matter. Who cares!” Sam cleared his throat and gave his thighs an awkward pat. Mercedes rubbed his arm.

“I told them I was gonna look for Schue.” She propped her hands on her hips, shaking her head. “He probably went back to Lima without us.”

Sam laughed and followed Mercedes out of the hotel. “He's not that bad!”

“Sam, we managed to go to Central Park without him suspecting a thing,” she said, voice and stare flat. “And he still isn't back. My dad would have kittens if I told him about today.”

He couldn't help but grin and grin hard, “Cool super power. My dad would probably just say –“ Sam drew himself up and in a voice more Sean Connery than Simon Evans, said, “'It's a learning experience. We all need one.'”

Mercedes gave him a side-eye and he could tell she was fighting a smile. “You're so weird.”

“Yeah?”

They parted to let an older woman cut through their pair, and when they came back together, Mercedes brushed his arm with hers. “Yeah. I like it.”

Sam pulled his hands from his pockets, heart suddenly loud in his ears. He grabbed Mercedes's forearm and she looked over, startled.

“Hey, Mercedes?” he started. His tongue felt kind of thick now. She was looking up at him in that way she did, brows raised and lips slack, and now he knew it wasn't so much as an  _I'll wait_ as it was an  _I'll wait, but I'm trying not to hope_. He wasn't sure when he'd become an amateur expert in the expressions of Mercedes Jones and a part of him wanted to play it off as way too many _Lie to Me_  marathons, but something fluttered high in his stomach because of that expression, something determined, thrumming faster than a struck guitar chord.

Sam figured it was how Clark Kent must have felt every time he tried to tell Lois Lane that he was Superman.

“Did you know Finn is trying to win Rachel back?” he said. The light literally flicked out of Mercedes and she rolled her eyes and didn't meet his stare. She was  _refusing_  to meet his stare.

“Isn't he always?” she asked. “They need to get over themselves already.”

“I agree,” Sam said quickly, and his heart was thumping so loud now that it was beginning to feel like panic. “He's going to do this whole romantic walk thing and dinner at some fancy restaurant. We're going to try to help him win her back. Puck and me and the guys, you know.”

The inches between them stretched into miles. He was digging himself a trench, a mote, and he needed to cross it and fast. Mercedes tucked her hands beneath her arms as she folded them, presumably against the cold. Sam knew better.

“So, anyway. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you because–“

“Sam,” Mercedes cut in. Her lips rolled together as she turned to him, stopping him in the middle of the sidewalk. “Why are you telling me this? I've had to deal with the Finn and Rachel show for like, a year now. I know they're always going to be on and off. I kind of don't care anymore.”

“Yeah, but I do,” Sam said. The corner of her mouth pinched. “I care and Finn might not get Rachel back tomorrow. She might turn him down and I want to take advantage of the fact that–“

“That what? That she's available? Do you want me to put in a good word? Is that why you asked me out here?”

And whoa, wait,  _what?_  Sam had never been on the receiving end of Mercedes's sharp tongue and hard stare, all nose flared and budding irritation. It made him feel two feet tall and she may have hated horses, but he could see quite a few similarities in temperament. Sam gathered every ounce of courage he had and grabbed her shoulders.

“No! No,  _geez,_  you're off the mark! I want to tell  _you_  that I like  _you_. I  _like_  you and I wanted you to know before Finn tries to get Rachel back, because if he can't do it, if he blows it tomorrow, I didn't want to lose my nerve and never tell you that I kind of really want to –“

Sam should have seen it coming, because her hands went to his neck and she pulled him down with zero finesse and then Mercedes just planted one on him. She kissed him right there in the middle of some sidewalk in New York City like this was some cheesy romantic comedy his dad blew twenty bucks to take his mom out to see back when they had the money and he was stuck sitting through  _Kung Fu Panda_ with Stacey and Stevie. Except he was pretty sure the soundtrack should have been an explosion of trumpets, not the rattle of a shopping cart or the honking of horns in city traffic.

When he touched her cheek and kissed back, Sam was sure the triumph was the same.

“I knew I should have asked you out first, Sam Evans,” Mercedes breathed up close. Sam couldn't see it, but he could feel how hot her skin was and he knew she was blushing, and blushing hard, because she was vibrating beneath his fingertips. Sam slid his hand forward and cupped her cheek. Her gaze became uncertain. “What?”

“What?” he parroted. He felt a little punch-drunk.

“You look like Heath Ledger.”

That sobered him up. Sam pulled back. “Wait, what?”

Mercedes's hands tentatively smoothed over his shoulders. There was a 100-watt smile hiding behind her lips. “In Batman. The second one. With the smiling.”

Sam wanted to laugh. Instead, he took one of her hands from his shoulder, carefully, and when he slid their fingers together it was as promising as the breath between kisses.

“Nah, Batman's got nothing to do with this,” Sam said.

He really didn't. Sam should have known all the prep time in the world couldn't have prepared him for Mercedes Jones. This was more Superman, all buildings in a single bound and faster than a speeding bullet. There was no technique, no planning, just doing. So when Sam leaned down to kiss Mercedes this time, things made a little more sense because they didn't  _have_  to make sense. He kissed her because he wanted to and nothing was going to get in his way. Not the future. Not Batman.

And really, if one thing needed to make sense at all, it was that Mercedes _would_  be his Lois Lane.

 

 

 


End file.
